


Glue Me Back Together

by MissBayliss



Series: The Pieces Verse [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Loss, Bullet wound, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Pneumonia, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-08-21 02:38:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16568024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBayliss/pseuds/MissBayliss
Summary: Sam's leg was bleeding a lot, and the more he moved the more it bled. But in the light of the moon Dean’s face was sickly white, his lips suspiciously blue, and he couldn’t sit there and watch his brother die in the back seat of the impala.Part of the Pieces Verse.





	1. Chapter 1

Sam fumbled for his phone. It had fallen under the seat at some point but now he knew he needed to make the call. They were only a half hour away. She could help. Dean would... Dean would have to deal with it. If they didn’t get help now there was a chance they wouldn’t make it through the night. His chest was aching but his leg was worse. There was no way he could walk, let alone drive.

“Dean?” he called to his brother in the back seat.

Dean had been... out of it, so to speak, for the last few hours.

Sam groaned as he grabbed the phone and struggled back upright, no response from Dean. Not good.

He turned to peer into the back, wincing as he jostled his leg.

“Dean? Come on, man.”

He reached down to feel Dean’s sweat slicked forehead and hissed at the heat pouring off him.

“S’m?”

“Yeah, take it easy, brother. I’m getting help, okay? Just hang tight.”

 

...

 

The phone buzzed on the wooden counter, vibrating ominously in the empty bar.

Riley wiped her wet hands on the rag she was using to clean. They were still sticky in places from spilt beer. Her heart had sped a little at a call at this hour of the night.

“Wait...” she muttered as she saw the name before answering quickly, “Hello? Sam?”

The line was quiet, save for a few haggard breaths on the other end.

“Sam, is that you? Talk to me.”

“Riley?”

Sam’s voice had changed, and there was definite pain in it. Current, very real pain.

“I, um... are you busy right now?”

“Where are you, Sam? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“No... we -“ Sam broke off into a wretched cough, “we’re not doing so hot.”

“Dean’s with you?”

Sam cleared his throat, a long pause following, “He’s bad, Riley. It’s... it’s really bad.”

“Where are you?”

“We were... headed south on highway 85. I don’t know exactly where. We’re, uh, pulled up on the side of the road.”

“In the impala?” Riley was already locking up the bar, bag slung over her shoulder, the beer stains forgotten.

Sam chuckled on the other end, “Of course.”

Riley swallowed a lump in her throat, “I’m on my way. I’ll drive till I find you.”

“We’re a half hour south of Greenville.”

“Sam, can I talk to Dean?”

The line rustled on the other end, more coughing came but it sounded too far away to be Sam.

“Dean can’t talk right now.”

“Shit,” she cursed, “How bad is this? Do you need an ambulance or a hospital?”

“Riley, I can’t explain... but we can’t go to a hospital. Please. We just... we need your help.”

“I’m driving as fast as I can.”

 

...

 

Sam pushed the dirty rag harder against his wound on his thigh and heard the squelch of fresh blood.

“Dean, man? Give me a sign of life, something.”

Dean groaned in the back seat.

“Good. That’s good,” Sam sighed.

Dean coughed and Sam could hear the fluid come out his mouth and hit the upholstery.

“Shit, Dean. You gotta sit up. You’re gonna suffocate like that,” Sam was already trying to push himself up. He needed to get out and around to the back door. Or lean over and drag Dean upright. But his leg was bleeding a lot, and the more he moved the more it bled. But in the light of the moon Dean’s face was sickly white, his lips suspiciously blue, and he couldn’t sit there and watch his brother die in the back seat of the impala.

“Dean? How’s the bullet wound?”

Dean coughed again and this time it was like he was fighting for every inhale.

“Okay. I’m getting you upright if it kills me.”

Sam let pressure off his leg to reach both hands over the seat and grab Dean’s shoulders. Dean arched with pain, letting out a yelp.

“Sorry... sorry.”

The hand Dean had pressed against the bleeding wound on his shoulder fell limp to his side as Sam manhandled him upright against the door, although Dean gasped in, and it was like he received oxygen for the first time in hours, his lips fading to dusky pink instead of blue.

“Dean? Breathing is good.”

Dean coughed again and Sam grabbed his right hand and pushed it against his shoulder. “Keep pressure on it. I’ll dig the bullet out later.”

Dean groaned but the message seemed to be understood. “Y’r leg...”

“It’s fine, Dean. Focus on breathing.”

Sam let his brother go and looked back at the mess that was his leg. Applying pressure again made him weak, but the bone wasn’t broken, and it was bleeding a lot but it wasn’t his artery. It would be okay. It had to be.

“Help’s on the way,” he whispered, and then let sweet unconsciousness take him.

 

…

 

Riley almost missed the car. Which was strange considering how big and conspicuous it was. But in the black of night, along a stretch of highway with no streetlights, tucked into the trees, it was almost impossible to see. She pulled in just in front of it, and grabbed her first aid kit from under her passenger seat.

As she approached the car she could hardly see anything through the windows, and definitely no movement.

She rapped on the passenger side window, trying to wipe away some condensation but it was on the other side of the glass, “Sam? Dean?”

Trying the handle the door was unlocked and she pulled it open with a creak.

“Oh, God, Sam…”

Sam was pale, drawn, slumped behind the steering wheel, head tilted back. His hand was still pressed against his leg, which was covered in red, sticky blood. The leg of his jeans was saturated. She thought Sam looked bad… until she saw Dean.

“Dean, oh my God,” She went round to the back door and swung it open, climbing in the back seat, straddling Dean’s legs, “Hey!  Wake up!”

She yelled, feeling his skin, palpating for a pulse in his neck.

He was warm, hot, fever bright – but it was miles better than the ice cold she’d expected to feel. His heart rate was thready, and fast.

“Riley.”

Hands fisted in Dean’s bloody shirt, she turned to Sam.

“Is he okay?” he mumbled, eyes barely focusing.

“No… No, he’s not,” she looked back at Dean, putting a hand to his face, “Neither are you.”

Sam started coughing and it sounded awful, rattling and thick.

“What’s wrong with you two?” Riley backed out of the car and grabbed the first aid kit, completely out of her depth.

Sam cleared his throat, “We’re sick… but – we were working.”

“What the hell kind of work are you guys doing?” she demanded.

Sam coughed again, “It got ugly.”

“No, shit!” Riley announced, “Sam, I can’t help with this. You need a hospital.”

“We can’t -,” Sam’s voice caught, “We can’t go to a hospital.”

“I don’t have the equipment to deal with this!”

“We do,” Sam took a shuddering breath, “We do. I need you to go to the trunk. There’s a panel in the bottom, lift it up, grab the blanket and the little duffle.”

Riley straightened, taking a deep breath, “Okay, okay…”

Her hands were shaking as she opened the trunk, she searched along the edge for the panel Sam was talking about and pulled it up.

“Holy shit.”

“Riley?” Sam called weakly.

“Coming, hang on,” she grabbed the blanket and the bag and shut the trunk, hurrying round to Sam.

“I can help you with Dean, but my leg is still bleeding. I need you to cut the blanket, give me a strip to tie around my leg.”

“Okay.”

Riley did what Sam said, stealing glances into the back seat at Dean’s lifeless form.

“He’ll be okay,” Sam’s gruff voice came from above her.

Riley sighed and helped Sam secure the length of fabric to his thigh, “He better be.”

Riley stared at Dean again, “Is that... a bullet wound?”

“Yes,” Sam answered, quickly, shuffling around on the seat, “But the bullet is still in there, which is good for now. It’s not bleeding too badly. It’s not that I’m worried about.”

“Sam, where you going?” Riley watched Sam fumbling for the door handle, “Can you even walk?”

“We’ll find out,” he mumbled, pushing his door open.

Riley got out and hurried round to the driver’s side, in time to catch Sam as he tried to stand.

“Stop, okay? We’re going to my car. I’ll come back and get Dean.”

“You can’t carry him,” Sam moaned, head lolling forward.

“I won’t have to. Come on.”

Sam was worse than she thought. He’d clearly lost a lot of blood, and was having a hard time even holding his head up. He winced with every step, and already the blanket strapped to his leg was turning red. Sam started coughing and it almost threw him off balance completely.

“That sounds really bad,” Riley winced, adjusting Sam’s arm over her shoulders.

“Feels worse,” he groaned.

Riley leaned Sam against the car and opened the passenger door.

“You okay from here? I’m gonna go get Dean.”

“Yeah,” Sam was panting, but already starting to pull himself into the car, “If you need help…”

Riley sighed, “There’s water in the glove box. Start drinking.”

All she could think about was Dean. His ashen face, pale in the moonlight, lips purple, his breathing weak, shallow, wheezing. He looked dead, and it shook her to her core. All that got her by without him was knowing that somewhere in America, somewhere out there in that big muscle car, Dean was okay. Tearing it up.

Five text messages.  _ Five.  _ In two years. That was it… but at least it was something. At least she knew he was okay. But this…

“Dean? Babe? Open your eyes, come on.”

Riley was sitting on him again, tapping his face. Dean moaned.

“Hey! Tiger, wake up,” she forced a smile, tears in her eyes, “Come on, hotshot.”

Dean groaned again but didn’t open his eyes, “Riley?”

Riley felt tears run down her cheeks, and laughed, “Yes. Dean, it’s me. I need you to do me a favour.”

Dean coughed and Riley dragged him further forward so he was more upright.

“’M really tired…”

“I know, babe. I know you are. But listen to me, I gotta get you to my car. Your brother’s waiting and he’s hurt bad. We gotta go, okay?”

Dean’s brow furrowed, “Sammy?”

“He’s bleeding a lot. We gotta go.”

“Said he was… fine,” Dean was choking on his words, so out of breath he couldn’t make it through a short sentence.

“Dean? Dean, focus on me. Focus.”

Dean’s weight slumped forward onto her.

“Dean! Dean, get up! Sam needs you!”

“Sam…” Dean moaned but he still wasn’t holding any of his own weight.

“Sam needs you to get up, okay?” Riley insisted, shaking him a little, which elicited a small groan. “I’ll help you, come on.”

Riley hopped out and round to the other side, the side Dean was leaning against. She opened the door and had to brace Dean with a hand or he would have fallen out.

“Come on, Dean. Sam’s waiting.”

Dean couldn’t stand. Could barely walk. He was hunched right over, sucking in breaths like he was breathing through a straw. She kept him between her and the impala to keep him upright and then slung his right arm over her shoulders and gripped his waist hard, hoisting him up against her.

“Just a few feet to the car. Can you make it that far?”

Dean squinted ahead, then dropped his head again, a small nod came after.

“Okay, let’s go.”

When they got to her car she held him against it while she got the back door open. He sunk down, legs giving way beneath him.

“Hey, not yet. Almost there,” she ordered, shoving him into the back seat.

Dean barely complied, and by this point his wheezing was so loud, his breathing fast and shallow. He slumped over across the back seat and started gasping.

“Sam?” Riley called for help, as Dean’s colour rapidly greyed.

Sam had passed out in the front seat but roused when she called him.

“Sam, he’s not getting enough air! What do I do?” she panicked, clinging to Dean’s shirt.

Sam’s voice was weak but authoritative. It made her calm a little.

“Sit him up.”

Riley was already squeezed into the back seat over Dean, so she grabbed his shoulder’s, a small whimper passing his lips, and pulled, using her whole body weight to lift him up to a sitting position.

“Lean him forward. Put his hands on the back of my seat.”

Riley whispered to Dean as she manhandled him, “Dean, you gotta hold onto the chair. Sammy’s gonna help you but you need to stay like this. I know you’re tired, but it’s not over yet.”

Dean groaned and that could be the best she could hope for an answer at this point.

Sam had one hand reaching back, holding onto his brother’s wrist. But even being upright for a few seconds Dean had stopped panicking, and his colour had improved already.

“Sam, I’m gonna lock up the car. Is there anything else you need from it tonight?”

Sam’s brow tightened and she could tell what a struggle it was for him to think right now.

“Our duffels, in the back... Just our duffels.”

“Okay, back in a tick.”

Riley wiped the sweat and tears from her face as she rushed towards the impala. She pulled the keys from the ignition and made sure all the doors were locked before she headed back to her car with Sam and Dean’s bags over her shoulders. They were heavy, and the clinking of metal and glass made the bags rattle suspiciously. She threw them in the trunk and slid into the driver’s seat, glancing over at the sweaty, blood soaked men in her car, both of whom were breathing far too laboured for her liking.

“Sam, you’re gonna have to give me a hell of a good reason as to why I can’t take you straight to a hospital,” she demanded, relieved to see that the bleeding on Sam’s leg seemed to have stopped.

“Can I… ask you to trust me?” Sam replied, while letting his head loll back against the seat.

“You’ve lost a lot of blood. Dean can’t  _ breathe _ . So you’re gonna have to do more than that.”

Despite Riley’s arguing, she had started the car and u-turned, heading back down the highway towards Greenville.

Sam coughed and cleared his throat, still gripping his brother’s wrist, “We have no insurance and no money. Dean has a bullet wound. And we’re both wanted men. That good enough?”

Riley could have burst into tears right then and there but she wasn’t about to. She had more sense than that.

“Okay. I’ll take you to my house but we have to stop off somewhere first and get supplies. And I’ll need to call my sister. She’s and emergency nurse, works in search and rescue in Colorado. She can tell me what to do.”

“Can you trust her?” Sam replied in a small voice, the worry evident.

“You don’t really have another choice right now,” Riley snapped, “Can you reach my phone in my bag? Get it and call Jayde.”

Sam leaned forward and searched Riley’s bag, letting loose a wet cough into the back of his wrist, “Got it,” he mumbled, straightening back up.

Riley couldn’t see him moving and glanced over to see him with his head back and eyes clamped shut, breathing through pursed lips, face whiter than before.

“You okay?”

“Just… dizzy. ‘M okay.”

Riley chewed the inside of her lip, but saw Sam begin to scroll through her contacts. Sam put the phone on speaker and held it up towards Riley.

_ “Riley? You okay? It’s 3am,” _ her sister had obviously been sleeping.

“Hey little sis. Sorry for the late night call but I kind of have a medical emergency here. I need your help.”

_ “What?” _ Jayde sounded suddenly awake and alert,  _ “Are you okay?” _

“It’s not me. Some friends of mine. I just picked them up. They’ve been in some kind of fight, they’re wounded and sick and not breathing right. I don’t know –“

_ “Okay, sis, you need to get them to the nearest hospital right now -“ _

“I know. I know,” Riley cut her off mid lecture, “But we can’t. You… you gotta trust me.”

_ “What? No. If this is serious they need - “ _

“Jayde, please. It isn’t an option, trust me. I need to know what to do,” Riley begged.

Jayde sighed on the other end,  _ “Okay... tell me the situation. Start with whoever’s worse.” _

“Okay. Dean is really struggling to breathe. He’s got a bad cough but he’s not really coughing anymore. It’s like he’s too tired.”

_ “How old is Dean? Does he have asthma? Chronic airway disease?” _

“Dean’s my age. Sam, he doesn’t have asthma or lung problems, does he?”

Sam shook his head, clearly running out of energy to speak as well.

“No, he’s just sick. Sam said they both got the same thing.”

_ “Whatever it is. It sounds bad... Can he talk to you or is he too focused on breathing?” _

“No, he can’t talk.”

“ _ Okay, how quickly is he breathing? Deep or shallow?” _

“Really fast and shallow. He sounds really wheezy, and like he’s gasping for air.”

_ “Kay, he needs a bronchodilator. That’s your first priority is his breathing. What position have you got him in?” _

“He’s in the back seat, leaning forward on Sam’s chair.”

_ “Good, keep him forward. If he doesn’t have the energy to hold himself up you have to get him leaning forward or he will go into respiratory arrest. He sounds like he’s bordering on it already. Is he bringing anything up when he coughs?” _

“Sam?” Riley prompted. 

“Uh, yeah. We’re both bringing up a lot.”

_ “What colour is it?” _

“Like dark green?”

“Brown…” came a squeaky exhale from the back seat. “Brown?” Sam asked, glancing back, but Dean didn’t say anything else. 

_ “Right, uh… okay. What else is wrong with him?” _

“Bullet wound, left shoulder.”

She stuttered on the other end,  _ “He’s been shot?” _

“Yes. The bullet’s still in there.”

_ “How far up on his shoulder? Riley, if the wound is anywhere near his lungs -“ _

“It’s not. It’s just below his collarbone.”

_ “Bleeding?” _

“His shirt is soaked on that side but it’s not bleeding now.”

_ “Have you got pressure on it?” _

“Only got two hands, sis.”

_ “Right. Don’t worry about it for the moment. He got a fever?” _

“Oh, yeah. He’s burning up, pulse was really quick too.”

_ “Dammit. This is -“ _

“Just tell me what to do,” Riley cut her off again. She didn’t need to be told how bad this was. She could see it with her own eyes. What she needed was help.

_ “If you can’t take him to a hospital you gotta get to a pharmacy. A big one.” _

“On my way there now.”

_ “Okay, tell me about Sam.” _

“Sam’s bleeding.”

_ “What? How badly?” _

“Pretty badly. He’d lost a lot when I got to him.”

_ “Where’s the wound, how big and how deep?” _

“On his right thigh, about 10 inches long. I can’t see how deep.”

_ “On the inside or outside.” _

“Outside.”

_ “Good. Have you got pressure on it?” _

“Yeah, we tied a blanket around. It’s slowed heaps down since we did that.”

_ “Okay, there’s still a small chance he’s nicked his femoral artery. You’re in shit if that’s happened and he will die if you don’t take him to a hospital. The blanket you’ve tied around might be cutting off blood supply to his leg, which is good for the blood loss, but he could lose that leg if you make it too tight or leave it on too long. Is Sam able to talk?” _

“Yeah -“ Sam moaned, proving he had been listening.

_ “Sam, when it was bleeding, was it oozing or pulsating out?” _

“It’s just oozing. It’s not too bad.”

_ “You’re slurring your speech, big shot.” _

“I’ve had worse. I can stitch it myself -“ Sam broke off into a long, coarse cough.

_ “Well, that answers that,” _ she said,  _ “Riley, I’m gonna make a list of supplies you’ll need to get. But I cannot guarantee that it will be enough to keep them alive. And these boys have pneumonia or bronchitis. They need hardcore antibiotics. That’s prescription only.” _

“You’re a nurse practitioner, can’t you prescribe them some?”

_ “I’m not supposed to prescribe out of my state -“ _

“Please, sis. We have no other option.”

She sighed,  _ “Okay, okay. Which pharmacy are you going to? I’ll call ahead and do a phone order. I’ll get them to put everything aside for you. Some of these things are hundreds of dollars each though. It’ll be one heck of a bill.” _

“That’s okay. It doesn’t matter.”

Sam shot her a look.

“I got this, alright?” She snapped.

_ “Riley, the first thing you do is give Dean ventolin through a spacer. Start with four puffs but go up to twelve if you have to. A minute apart. I want you to get a high flow humidifier, put it on him as soon as you get home. If he goes into respiratory arrest you need to call an ambulance and to hell with everything else.” _

“I know. How do I know if he arrests?”

_ “He’ll stop breathing. _ ”

Riley swallowed, “Okay.”

_ “I wish you’d reconsider this. I can hear Dean breathing and it’s not good. Is he going blue yet?”  _

Sam turned around to assess his brother, “Dean? You good?”

Dean gasped in, “Just… catchin’... my breath,” he rasped. 

“He’s okay,” Sam said, more like he was trying to convince himself. “He’ll be okay.”

_ “Yeah, these guys would say they were okay if they were on fire. I’ll find you a big 24 hour pharmacy. Where are you right now?” _

“Highway 85, headed into Greenville.”

_ “Keep your phone on you. I’ll call you right back.” _

“Thanks, honey.”

_ “Keep a really close eye on them.” _

“I will.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s wrist. His brother’s skin was hot and clammy and slid under his fingers. He knew he had to cling to him desperately or he wouldn’t be leaning forward on his own. 

They should never have taken a case. They should never have left the bunker. They had both been sick for weeks, Dean’s ragged cough echoing through the empty corridors of the bunker for hours through the night. But their stupid drive to work had put them in the line of fire and though they’d taken down the bad guys, they hadn’t got away unscathed. The problem was, they’d been forced to run. And that was when all hell had broken loose, because Dean coughed until he hit the ground and Sam had to drag him while he puffed and panted like there wasn’t enough air in the world. 

They were sloppy, left too much evidence, and didn’t clean up their mess. Driving for hours probably didn’t help either of them but they needed to flee quickly and this led them in the direction of Riley. 

Sam realised he’d been slipping, head drooping, as unconsciousness called, but Dean’s weight shifting under his hand roused him easily. 

“Hey, Dean. Stay with me. Keep breathing,” Sam’s own voice was hoarse and grating, and he just wanted to sleep for a week. 

“He alright?” Riley’s voice was soft, full of the concern Sam would have thought she’d left behind years ago. 

“He’s getting tired,” Sam whispered, feeling bone crushing exhaustion press down on him. 

“He’s not the only one,” Riley cast a glance in their direction. 

Despite himself Sam closed his eyes. And then he felt Dean’s hand wrap calloused fingers around his wrist. Dean was holding on, and, dammit, so could he. 

 

…

 

Jayde’s instructions were running over in Riley’s head. There was a part of her that wanted to fall to pieces, to cry and sob and say she couldn’t handle this on her own. But the other, more dominant part of her pumped with adrenaline. She needed to keep it together. She needed to save Sam and Dean. 

She was on her way to the pharmacy Jayde had directed her to. It was a little further than she wanted to drive but it was the only one with the right respiratory equipment. Her sister, God bless her, had texted her a list in order of what to do, starting with giving Dean the ventolin. The very next thing was ‘Sam needs fluids’. 

She glanced over at him in the passenger seat, his and Dean’s hand entwined around each other’s wrists, looking all but passed out. 

“Sam?” She ventured. 

Sam didn’t move or crack an eye open, “Mm?”

“Did you drink that water?” 

“Yeah,” he said roughly, then cleared his throat. 

“You need to drink more,” Riley instructed. 

“You got more?” Now one eye was open. 

“Shit,” Riley cursed, thumping her hand against the steering wheel. 

“It’s okay… I’ve had worse,” Sam mumbled, eyes closed again. 

“Is that supposed to impress me? Why have you had worse, Sam?” Riley softened, “What happened to you guys?” 

“What didn’t…” Sam answered, and that seemed like the end of the conversation. 

Riley wiped sweat from her forehead, “Is that bandage too tight?”

“It’s okay for now,” Sam coughed into his fist, wiping his hand on this jeans afterwards. 

She wished she had done this better. Jayde said Sam needed to be lying down, and Dean leaning forward. She should have put Dean in the front seat where she could see him better and Sam in the back where he could lie down. It was too late now. 

The steady, quick in and out of Dean’s ragged breathing had been the soundtrack of the journey, occasionally he would try and take a deeper breath, but he’d just huff, splutter a little and go back to the rhythm. He hadn’t said anything since the first call to Jayde. 

“Dean? How you doing, sweetie?” Riley called. 

He didn’t reply. He physically could not talk and breathe at the same time. This wasn’t good, and she was well and truly in over her head. 

Eventually they pulled in at the pharmacy. It was a big blue store with neon lights advertising 24/7 trading. There was no one else in the parking lot, which was probably a good thing if she had two wanted men, bleeding out in her car. 

She turned to both of them. 

“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

Sam smirked but kept his eyes closed. 

“Oh, shut up,” she said before swinging her door open. 

The store was well lit, almost too bright. Belatedly she realised she was covered in blood, had sweat and tear streaked makeup, and probably still smelt of beer. 

She approached the counter and the pharmacist, a guy who looked too young to be out of school, widened his eyes at her. 

“Riley Mercer?” He asked tentatively. 

“Yes, my sister called,” she tried to sound put together, seeing as how everything else was falling apart. 

“She didn’t mention she was your sister.”

_ Crap.  _ What the hell was she thinking? What if he didn’t give her the medication now?

“Ah, not to worry. I have everything she requested here for you.”

Riley sighed, relieved. She mustered a smile for his sake. 

“Thank you so much. I’m actually in a bit of a hurry so -“

“I just have a few instructions to give you,” he grabbed two boxes out of one of the bags, “These antibiotics are very strong. They probably will make you feel a bit sick if you take them on an empty stomach. They’re three times a day, with meals, and she wants you to start with a double dose tonight.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Just need you to sign here,” he handed her a form for the antibiotics. 

“Sure,” she replied, trying to stop her hand from shaking. 

The pharmacist looked at her again, “Miss, are you alright? There’s a hospital down the road, I could call an ambulance.”

“Oh, no. Everything’s fine. Don’t worry at all,” she smiled, sliding the form back towards him, “How much do I owe you?”

 

…

 

Sam pried his eyes open, blinking as the sweat burned and blurred his vision. Riley wasn’t in the car and it took him a second to remember what they were doing. Behind him, a wheeze broke the silence. He sluggishly turned to the back seat. 

“Dean!” He gasped. 

Dean was lying across the back seat, barely sucking in any air. His lips were blue. 

“Dean, get up!” He ordered, scrambling between the seats to get to his brother. 

For the second time that night he yanked Dean into a sitting position, one hand at his shoulder, the other against his chest. 

“Dean, if you give up right now, so help me…” 

Already he was breathing easier. He cracked his eyes open, “Sam?”

“Yeah, Dean. I’m here. Keep breathing. Riley’s gonna look after us, okay? We’re okay.”

Dean coughed, “Can’t…”

Sam widened his eyes, gripping his brother tighter, “What do you mean?”

“Can’t... breathe…”

“Well, stop talking to me. You’re not giving up. This is not how things end,” Sam ordered, fear and panic rising. Because he  _ could not  _ lose his brother this way. 

 

…

 

Could he have been poisoned?

Or a witch?... Yes. It had to be a witch. 

Someone had stolen his lungs. You needed lungs, didn’t you? They were, like, vital… or something. 

_ God,  _ he was so tired. 

Air was good. Air was necessary. Breathing. In and out. Supposed to be easy, right? Simple. Didn’t even need to think about it. But he did. He did have to think about it. Because if he didn’t he’d wind up on his back with a 1000 tonne anvil on his chest and then, yeah… things got difficult. 

He couldn’t remember the last few days. Didn’t  know why he was there. But that didn’t matter, because  _ in and out _ . That’s all he had to worry about. 

_ Hey, where’d all the oxygen go?  _

He wanted to cough, had a tickle, deep,  _ deep  _ down. But the effort to take a breath was too much, let alone trying to cough one out. 

Someone was talking to him again and, why? He obviously couldn’t reply. Because  _ in and out.  _

There was someone there. Trying to make him do things that compromised the whole  _ in and out  _ thing he’d been working on. And that was dangerous. Teetering. Because he was getting very tired of the  _ in and out  _ game. He didn’t like that game anymore. But he had to play. He had to. Because if he stopped…

“Dean!” 

Okay, yeah, very tired. Oh, so tired. 

There was hard plastic in his mouth and someone told him to bite down. 

“Take a deep breath.”

He would have laughed if he could. There was no ‘deeper’. There was only frantic, rhythmic,  _ in and out _ , because someone had stolen all the oxygen and a witch had ripped out his lungs. No… he had lungs. Because if he didn’t. They wouldn’t  _ hurt…  _

“That’s it, Dean. Keep breathing. This’ll help.”

It tasted like metal. Not the way blood tasted like metal. A different way. A powdery way. But air was entering his lungs. And that was… nice. 

“You’re doing great, tiger. Breathe. In and out, okay?”

Okay. Yes, this was… better. It tasted like ash and his heart was racing even more now. Pounding away. But his chest wasn’t so tight. And things were… easier. There was a hand on the back of his neck. Not Sam’s hand. Not Sam’s voice either. And not Sam’s hand was rubbing up and down, soothing and… yeah, definitely not Sam’s hand. 

 

…

 

Riley pushed her fingers up through Dean’s hair, feeling the sweat and grime under her fingertips. But she wasn’t disgusted, because Dean had taken his first easy breaths since she found him in the impala over an hour ago. The wheeze was less pronounced and he didn’t need to hunch up so much to try and move his lungs. As the medicine began to free up his airways he tried to push himself up a little more but groaned and clutched at his shoulder. 

“Hey, careful with that shoulder, honey,” Riley whispered next to his ear. 

Sam was still slumped in the passenger seat. She’d handed him a litre bottle of hydra-lite which he was slowly working through. 

“Sam, we’re going straight to my house once Dean’s breathing a little better. Are you sure you’ll be able to patch up your leg?” 

The reply was long in coming, “Yeah. Should probably patch it first… then deal with the bullet.”

“Good idea. You okay?”

“‘M a bit tired… but I’ll be okay.”

“If you say so.”

Riley was still rubbing her fingers through Dean’s hair, holding the spacer to his lips with the other hand. 

“How’s Dean? He sounds better.” 

“Yeah, it’s working.”

As soon as Riley uttered the words Dean leaned forward with a rattling coughing fit, pushing the inhaler and spacer away. The medicine must have pulled some things loose in his lungs. Riley grabbed some tissues from the bag at her side. She was tucked in the back seat with Dean, along with all the bags of supplies from the pharmacy. She pressed them into the hand Dean was covering his mouth with. He coughed brown gunk into the tissues, heaving breaths in desperately only to cough them out harder. The brown mucus was tinged with flecks of new blood. 

“It’s okay, Dean. It’s alright,” Riley rubbed a hand up and down Dean’s warm, clammy back, feeling him shuddering beneath her. 

Eventually he stopped coughing and slumped back against the seat, head rolling backwards.

“Babe, open your mouth. You gotta have more medicine.”

Dean complied, even though he seemed completely spent. While she delivered doses of ventolin into the spacer, supporting Dean’s head, she glanced into the front seat.

“Sam? Still conscious?” 

Sam cleared his throat and replied huskily, “Yeah…”

“Still pedalling that “I’m fine” crap?”

Sam coughed, and it was weak, “Until I can’t anymore.”

Riley tried not to cry.

 

…

 

When Sam came to the car was moving again. He hadn’t realised he’d gone out. The half drunk bottle of hydra lite sat in his lap with the lid on, luckily. Riley must have done that for him. It took him a while to realise there was talking happening. His head was pounding, it felt like his skull had shrunk and his brain was being squished. He could feel the weight of his chest, the sickness weighing him down. He felt sick to his stomach. There was a tingling feeling in his thigh and he looked down, wishing he hadn’t. He’d forgotten how much blood he’d lost.  _ That must explain the headache,  _ he thought, wincing. He raised his hand to rub at his head. 

“Thanks Jayde, you’ve been amazing… hang on, he’s awake. Sam?”

Sam groaned, which gave way to a cough. 

“Sam, you okay? How you feeling?” 

He cleared his throat and blinked his eyes further open, “Dean,” he said suddenly, trying to get enough energy to turn around and see his brother. 

“I’m good, Sammy.”

Sam gave up his efforts when he heard his brother’s voice, slumping back down in the seat. 

“You okay?” Sam asked listening to Dean’s breathing. 

“Yeah… ‘bout you?” Dean was still puffing but he wasn’t as wheezy. 

“My head hurts,” he moaned. 

“Yeh, me too,” Dean’s voice was halting, gravelly and husky, barely holding on just like the two of them. 

“Guys, we’re almost home. Sam, you gotta stay up long enough to stitch your wound. We have to get that rag untied,” Riley broke through the conversation they thought they were having on their own. 

“I know,” Sam sniffed, tried to sit up straighter, “I can do it.”

“‘M sorry…”

“Dean? What are you sorry for?”

“Should… should be… able to patch… you myself.”

“Man, don’t worry about it. I can -“

“Both of you, stop talking. You’re wasting energy. We are gonna get home and get through this night, everything after that we will deal with when it comes, okay? You’re gonna be okay.”

Sam didn’t say anything after that, neither did Dean. He relaxed in his seat, feeling the familiar rocking motion of a car gliding over asphalt, listening to his brother’s breathing, and forced himself to stay awake. 

 

…

 

Dean could see a little more clearly now, more importantly he could breathe. His brain was still jumbled, and his head felt like someone had been jumping on it for hours. But now that air was entering his lungs he wasn’t at full defcon one panic stations. He could relax just a bit. He winced as his shoulder flinched, let out a low moan. 

“You okay, babe?”

And that was the other thing.

Riley was there. Obviously he hadn’t been consulted on whether to call her for help, because he knew what his answer would have been. Dean loved Riley. He loved her almost as much as he’d loved Lisa, if you were allowed two loves in your life. Riley was… Riley was far away, distant, a vague memory of a much harder time, a time in his life that he’d really rather forget. She was the good amongst the bad, the rose among many,  _ many  _ thorns. If it weren’t for her, he would have had Cas erase those whole six months from his memory. And, like Lisa, Dean had put a prohibition on anything Riley related. Sam was not allowed to mention her, because Dean didn’t want to ever be reminded of what he’d lost, of what he’d been forced to live without. And he didn’t want her dragged into this. He wanted her kept safe. So she needed to stay away from him and Sam. End of story.

“Dean?”

Dean cleared his throat and coughed, his chest muscles in agony, “Riley…”

“What is it?”

Her brilliant brown eyes shined at him through the rear view mirror.

“‘M sorry,” he coughed again, reaching for the inhaler and taking another hit.

“Just,” Riley let out a controlled breath, “let me help you. It’s going to be okay.”

He closed his eyes as sweat tracked a line down the side of his face. He felt like his eyes were vibrating, body humming with fever, chest thick with infection, hands shaking, heart racing, a bullet lodged in his shoulder. But the ventolin made breathing easier, and so the need to stay awake didn’t feel so great anymore.

 

…

 

Riley pulled into her driveway, letting out a sigh of relief. Sam straightened next to her, a strangled grunt coming from him as he moved his injured leg. He cleared his throat, sounding like he had an abundance of phlegm to shift, before he spoke. 

“It’s been a few years, huh?” he croaked, a look of nostalgia playing across his face as he stared through the windscreen. 

“Just a few…” she replied, “I’m going to unload all the stuff from the pharmacy first and I’ll come back to get you guys.”

“I’m good. I’ll get Dean,” Sam grunted, starting to move. 

“No, Sam. I’ll come back for you guys one at a time. I don’t think you can be carrying each other right now.”

“No, no. I got it. You help Dean,” Sam opened his door and began slowly shuffling his legs around before he stopped, “Dean?”

Riley turned to the back, Dean was slumped against the door, pale and shivering, and completely out to it, mouth hanging open. At least he didn’t sound like he was drowning in his own lungs. 

“Hey!” She called, quickly getting into the back, “Dean? Wake up, honey. We gotta get inside the house.”

Dean was limp under her hands, she was holding his face with one hand and tapping his cheek with the other. 

“Riley?” Sam ground out, both legs now out of the car. He was holding onto the side of the car, face dripping sweat. 

“Here,” she handed him the keys, “You go. I’ll take care of Dean.” 

Sam’s hand was slimy and covered in dried blood. He gripped the keys tight and began slowly levering himself out of the car. 

Riley turned her attention back to the unconscious one. 

“Dean, please…” she ran her hands over him, then grimaced, “I’m sorry, babe,” she squeezed his left shoulder hard, giving him a little shake as well. 

“ _ Argh! _ ” Dean rocked forward, crying out as her fingers drove into the bullet wound. 

“Hey, hey. Stay with me, Dean. We’re going inside. Sam needs help with his leg, remember?” 

Dean didn’t look like he remembered, but just the mention of Sam needing help had him moving, or at least trying to. 

Riley wrapped her arms around his torso and dragged him forward, his head flopped uselessly over her shoulder and he let out a stomach churning cough. 

“Easy…” she mumbled into his ear. 

“Sammy… hurt his leg,” his voice was wrecked, but he was at least remembering some of the night. 

“Yeah, yes, he did. We have to help him stitch it up. Come on.”

By some miracle she got Dean out of the car and relatively upright. Looking around, the front door was open, a streak of blood on the door frame. At least Sam was inside. She needed to get the supplies, get Dean hooked up to the high flow and get Sam’s leg patched. Already Dean’s breath was sawing in her ear, sounding laboured and crackling heavily. He coughed again and she felt his legs sinking from the effort of standing and breathing at the same time. 

“Let’s move.”

She grabbed his good arm and slung it over her shoulder, gripping his waist tightly. 

When they were close to the doorway she called out, “Sam! You alright?”

A grunt came from inside, “Yeah… I, yeah…” 

She considered the reply good enough and continued dragging Dean forward. 

 

…

 

Sam slumped onto the couch, getting his injured leg straight out in front of him. His whole leg was starting to feel numb, disconnected, and that wasn’t good. He needed to get the tourniquet off. Sweat dripped in his eyes and he blinked away the sting, listening to the grunts and coughs of his brother struggling up the driveway. 

He looked up as they emerged at the front door. He felt sick. In the well lit living room Dean looked more than half dead, he looked dead. And he’d seen his brother dead before. His skin was dusky and he was covered in a sheen of sweat, eyes bloodshot, red around his nostrils and across his cheeks. He was barely standing and Sam had to restrain himself from getting up to help. If he did they’d both be on the floor and then Riley would have more work to do on her own. 

“Sit him at the table,” Sam’s voice felt far away and muted. He cleared his throat, “Sort him out first. I’m okay.” 

Riley looked longsufferingly and hauled Dean to the table. Dean bent double coughing as he was pushed into the seat. He clawed his hands around the table to remain leaning forward. It was clear the walk had taken it out of him and his lungs were suffering because of it. 

Riley disappeared out the door and was back in a flash, bags slung up her arms and a large box in her hands. 

“Sam?” Dean gasped. 

“Yeah, Dean? ‘M right here.”

Dean coughed again, his shaking arm coming up to drag his sleeve along his mouth. 

“You’re hurt?” Dean turned vacant, fevered eyes on Sam. 

“Yeah, man. But so are you.”

Riley was busy unpacking the high flow air machine, she flicked through the instruction book and then ducked into the kitchen and Sam heard the water running. 

“Dean?” Sam muttered, trying to get his brother’s waning attention. 

“Mm?” was all he got in reply. 

“Let her help you,” it didn’t seem like enough to say but it was all his pounding head could come up with. 

Dean didn’t say anything else as he launched into another thunderous coughing fit. 

Riley was back now, snapping together the pole that the machine sat on. She connected it to this thing that looked like a tiny pool cleaner and fitted it under Dean’s nose. 

“You okay?” she asked, hand on Dean’s back. 

He relished the fact that air was now entering his lungs and gave her the shakiest thumbs up Sam had ever seen. 

She turned to Sam, “Your turn, big guy.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! Sorry I've left such a big gap between chapters. I'd like to say there won't be as big a gap before the next one but I'm not sure... Life's weird.   
> Thanks for sticking with me :)

Dean’s vision was grey and starry. His head felt like it was about to fall off. Suddenly there was a rush of air up his nose and he felt himself relaxing. The air was hot and moist and very forceful, like a hurricane. It got things moving in his chest and he coughed again, heavy with fluid, into the crook of his elbow. His shoulder hurt. It felt like he’d been shot… wait. Had he been shot? He couldn’t remember. 

“Sam?” He winced trying to use his shattered voice box. 

He heard a grunt somewhere to his right, followed by a strangled, “Dean? You okay?” 

“Did I… get shot?” 

Sam didn’t answer for a while and he sounded weak when he finally did, “Yeh…”

Dean felt through the haze that something wasn’t right with Sam. He blinked, trying to figure out where he was. Eventually his eyes found his brother. 

Sam was sitting propped up sideways across the couch. A reddened towel under his leg and his pant leg split up the middle. His hands were shaking hard as he drove the needle into the wound, stitching slowly. Riley was dabbing the blood away periodically. 

“Sam?” 

Sam must have heard the panic in his voice because both heads turned in his direction. 

“I’m okay, Dean. Stay put.”

Riley hopped up, giving Sam’s shoulder a quick reassuring squeeze. 

“Dean, honey. Do you remember what’s going on?” 

Her hand was soft and cool on his forehead, her voice close and comforting. 

“I, umm…” he broke off coughing again, “My chest hurts.”

“I know, baby. We’ll get that bullet out and then you can sleep. I promise.”

Dean reached a shaky hand out, latched onto Riley’s wrist. Her eyes were big, full of concern.

“I missed you.”

She closed her eyes and for a few seconds he missed their intensity. She planted a soft kiss on his hairline, “I have to help Sam, okay?”

Dean nodded, stifling a cough in his throat and palming his sweat soaked forehead.

“Hang tight, tiger.”

 

…

 

Sam’s hands were barely functional. His vision was blurry and swimming. He felt like he might puke but he couldn’t afford to. He needed to keep those liquids down. 

He tied off the last stitch, shaking like a leaf. Even his hands looked white under the blood stains. He relaxed back and let Riley take the needle from his fingers. She squirted antiseptic over the wound and it was like ice. He hissed through his teeth. 

“Sorry,” she muttered, dabbing at it with sterile gauze. She covered it with a large waterproof dressing. 

“You okay?” 

Sam had his eyes closed, breathing hard and fast, it made him cough. 

“I’m, uh, getting there…” 

“I’ll grab you some wet towels and you can wash the blood off. Keep sipping on that. You need fluids.”

“Yeah,” Sam breathed, taking the bottle from her.

He glanced over at Dean, who now had his head down on the table, pillowed on his good arm, the other was cradled in his lap. He could hear his congested breathing from across the room, even above the sound of the machine. 

“Just let me wash my hands, I’ll do the rest later. I’ve gotta get the bullet outta Dean’s shoulder.”

Riley sighed and wiped the hair from her face, “God, I almost forgot about that. Can’t you guys take it in turns getting hurt?”

Sam smirked, but then the smile fell as Dean made a whimpering sound in his sleep. Before Sam could stop her Riley was approaching Dean, she reached a hand out to his arm.

“Riley, don’t -”

The warning came too late. Dean was on his feet, blinking widely, and swaying where he stood. He looked  _ wild _ . Sam could tell behind the fever haze that he was completely spooked. He had no idea where he was or what was happening. It was fight or flight, and Dean’s instinct was always fight. 

“Step back, Riley,” Sam said, now sitting bolt upright.

“Dean?” she muttered, but still did as Sam said. 

“He doesn’t know you right now,” Sam tried to lever himself up to stand, “Dean? Man? Look at me.”

Dean shuddered, blinking, finally his eyes fell on Sam, who was standing with all his weight on his good leg. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Dean ground out, his voice getting more hoarse by the passing minutes, “Sam?” he put a hand against his own chest, wincing, looking confused, like he wasn’t sure why he couldn’t breathe properly.

“Sit down, man. We’re safe. Riley’s looking after us,” Sam could feel the room tilting, and his vision greying, the drop in his blood pressure from being upright.

He grabbed the back of the couch and luckily Riley looked over when she did because she literally stopped him from hitting the ground. 

“I don’t feel good,” Dean mumbled, lowering his head and bracing his good arm on his knee.

“For goodness sake! Go down one at a time, will ya?” Riley whined, getting Sam back on the couch and lying flat, legs up on a pillow. 

Dean fell into his chair, face grey and sweating, breath sawing in and out, the nasal prongs discarded on the ground. 

Riley approached Dean slowly, grabbing the nasal prongs. She squatted down and looked him in the eyes, “Dean? Can I put these back on your face?” 

Dean coughed and groaned, then seemingly breathless and defeated nodded.

Sam watched Riley fit the prongs under Dean’s nose, Dean watching her with a guarded gaze, like he still didn’t completely know what was happening but was too desperate for air that he was letting her help. She ran a careful hand over his forehead and then turned panicked eyes on Sam. 

Sam felt better now he was lying down but he couldn’t move again for a little bit, until his blood pressure settled. 

“Got a thermometer?” He asked, wincing as he shifted his leg. 

“Yeah, hang on,” Riley hurried into the kitchen and Sam sagged back against the pillows. He felt a pang of guilt looking at Dean slumped on the wooden dining room chair, breathing heavily, lungs crackling and wheezing. He could hear it from the other side of the room. His eyes were glassy and panicked. He screwed up his face in pain and tucked his left arm closer against his side. 

Riley came back and held the thermometer in front his face. 

“Could you hold this under your tongue for me, sweetheart?” 

Dean’s eyes flickered with uncertainty but he did it anyway. 

Sam allowed his eyes to close for a minute. 

“104, shit,” Riley cursed. 

 

…

 

Riley pulled her phone out, a tremor in her hands that was hard to ignore, and opened the list Jayde had sent her. 

  1. Give Dean ventolin (6-12 puffs) hook him up to the high flow air. 



_ Check. _

  1. Sam needs fluids. Water and hydralite to replace electrolytes. Stop the bleeding. Stitch it, disinfect it, and dress it. 



_ Check. _

  1. Give them a double dose of antibiotics and Tylenol codeine for pain and fever. 
  2. Get the bullet out of Dean’s shoulder. Be ready to call 911 if it starts bleeding excessively or his breathing changes. Stitch, disinfect, dress. 



Right, pills. They needed pills. 

Dean looked up at Riley and despite looking completely shattered, pale, clammy, and drawn, he looked at her with recognition. 

“Dean, you with me, babe?” She ducked her head and swept a hand through his hair. 

“Riley,” he croaked, voice fading on him, “something’s wrong.” 

“You’re sick, honey. You’ll be okay. Let me help you,” her hand carted gently through his hair. 

Dean took another big breath in and coughed congestedly into his sleeve, chesty and forceful. 

Her hand slid down his back, “I need you to swallow some pills for me. Can you do that?” 

Dean nodded, panting after his latest fit. 

She turned to Sam, “You have to take them as well.” 

“Gladly,” Sam muttered with a tight smile. 

Riley smiled in sympathy and began rummaging through the bags to find the packets of pills her sister had hooked them up with. She’d given them the highest dosage of codeine you could get. She popped out two antibiotics and marvelled at the size of them, followed by the Tylenol codeine, and handed the four pills to Dean.

While Dean sat staring at the pills, sweating in his hand, Riley grabbed water for both of them and dished out some pills to Sam too. 

“Just give me half of one of those,” Sam said, rejecting the painkillers. 

“Sam,” Riley gaped at him. 

“No… It’ll knock me on my ass and Dean… I still need to fix him.” 

Riley felt a wave of emotion at his choice of words, but cracked one of the pills in half anyway, giving him only a fairly low dose. 

“I can take the rest later when I’m…” he trailed off, coughing into his arm. 

“Yeah, okay,” she muttered, “Stay here. I’ll get Dean over.”

Sam made a move like he was going to get up and then thought better of it, “Yeah… yeah.”

Riley dragged one of her dining table chairs over to the couch in front of Sam, then went back to Dean.

“Hey, babe, come on. Let’s fix your shoulder.”

He glanced towards his left, glassy eyed and sluggish. He nodded and allowed her to help him stand. With one arm around Riley and the other hand gripping the pole of the high flow machine, Dean struggled towards Sam.

“Don’t… look so good… Sammy,” he croaked, breathless but with a wry smirk. 

“Yeah, I could say the same for you,” Sam laughed, breaking off into a crackling cough. 

Dean rubbed his chest, looking pale as he slumped into the chair, “Where did you... get this virus anyway?” he panted, mouth hanging open. 

“You got sick first!” Sam protested, pushing himself to a sitting position.

“As if,” Dean bent forward coughing, taking gasping breaths in.

Riley’s hand rubbed up and down his back. She could feel his rib cage expanding and spasming. He was hot and soaked wet with sweat. 

“Hey, man,” Sam grabbed the knife that was still at his side, “let’s get this bullet out of you.”

 

…

 

After a long 20 minutes spent cutting and pulling and digging into Dean’s shoulder wound, Sam’s tiny forceps emerged, dropping a warped and bloody bullet into one of Riley’s ceramic bowls. She usually used these bowls for cereal, soup, or sometimes two minute noodles. 

“Riley,” Sam’s voice was low and rumbled in his chest. 

“Yeah,” she set the bowl down and handed him the gauze. 

“You good, brother?” Sam shoved the wad into the wound and mopped up more blood. It wasn’t bleeding too badly, considering. Although Riley didn’t really know what was too much, she looked down at Sam’s leg again, maybe she did. 

“Done?” was all Dean said, head bowed and turned to the right so Sam had good access to the shoulder. 

“Almost,” Sam held the gauze just below the wound, “Riley, could you squirt the disinfectant in there? Give it a good shot, all of that in there,” he directed gently. 

Riley did as she was asked, watching the clear liquid going in and coming out pink stained, being mopped up by the now soaking gauze. 

“Time to stitch up, bro. I’ll be done in a sec.”

Dean didn’t reply but let loose the worlds wettest coughing fit. She had never heard such compromised lungs before in her life and it was scary. As he shuddered with the force of it Sam just patted his leg comfortingly and smiled, “Better out than in, dude.”

Another ten minutes and the wound was stitched up and dressed. Riley looked at her living room. It looked like a triage in a warzone. And Dean was barely able to hold his own weight in the chair anymore. Sam was ashen and covered in sweat and blood. Hell, all three of them were. 

“Okay… here’s the plan,” she said, standing up, “You guys are going to get out of those clothes and we’re gonna wash the blood, and sweat, and dirt off you. I’ll grab you clean clothes, and drag out my mattress and the mattress in the spare room and we’re going to camp out here tonight, okay? That way I can keep and eye on both of you.”

Dean lifted his head in a weak attempt at defiance, “Riley -”

“ _ Don’t  _ you even dare,” she warned, nerves frayed, “You are staying until I tell you you can leave. Do you understand?”

Sam had the nerve to look amused. 

“Yes ma’am,” they said in unison. 

Dean coughed again and this time it didn’t really stop. Riley rummaged through the bags for Dean’s inhaler as Sam struggled forward, trying unsuccessfully to keep Dean in the chair.

As the coughing continued, Dean fell forward, going down on one knee, hand on the ground holding him up, the other pressing into his sternum. 

“Hey, hey, here,” Riley stuck the spacer in Dean’s mouth, “Try and take a breath in, honey.”

Eventually the fit stopped, Dean leaning the full weight of his head on Riley’s arms. She stroked his hair and cast a concerned glance at Sam. Sam leaned back, letting out a crackly breath, and Riley closed his eyes briefly. 

“Dean, come on.”

Rather than sitting him back in the chair where he could easily fall out, she sat him down on the floor, leaning against the couch. Sam put a hand down and gripped Dean’s good shoulder. 

This was how she remembered the brothers. Always looking out for each other, always worrying about each other, always suffering over each other. It warmed her heart. She loved her sister but she hadn’t seen her since last Christmas. They weren’t close, not like this. And last time she’d seen Dean… Sam was nowhere to be seen.

_ “We went our separate ways…” _

She was glad to see them together at least… but what on earth had they got themselves into. 

The boys stayed where she left them while she dragged out the mattresses, clearing a big space in the living room for the two beds. Her and Dean in one, Sam in the other. She hoped it wasn’t too bold of her to assume that much, but a brother on either side, within reach, that was how she could look after them the best. Although she didn’t expect to be sleeping all that much.

Turns out clean clothes for Sam and Dean were hard to come by. All the stuff in their duffles was dirty, sweaty, and a lot of them were stained with blood. Well… clothes, at this point, were optional. 

An hour later, Dean was lying propped up on the mattress, several pillows shoved behind his back so he was basically sitting up. The high flow air was still attached snuggly under his nose and he hadn’t complained once. He was only wearing boxers, and a sling Jayde had obviously put on the shopping list. She’d cleaned him up as best she could and had a cool washcloth draped across his forehead and another around the nape of his neck. His breathing was noisy, laboured, and he hadn’t said a word since he lay down. 

Sam was on the other mattress, sprawled out across the entire thing, also only wearing boxers. He was sweating and still as white as the sheets, but he seemed to be sleeping. 

Riley sunk down onto the bed, next to Dean. She slid her hand up his arm, fingers stopping over a large keloid scar. It was a strange shape, like someone had branded him. She’d seen this the last time she saw him and he hadn’t explained then either. Not that he could right now. But this time she was going to find out. She was going to find out why the scar on his back was missing, why he and Sam had gotten so sick, why he’d been shot, why they couldn’t go to a hospital, why they were wanted men, and why they had a trunk full of weapons. In the meantime, she settled between the brothers and listened to them breathe. 

**Author's Note:**

> to be continued...


End file.
